


Accidentally in Love

by Sociofemme



Category: I Want To Go Home! - Gordon Korman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-21
Updated: 2007-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sociofemme/pseuds/Sociofemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike wants Rudy, but he doesn't think that Rudy's interested. So he decides to go ahead and date other people. Uh, Rudy's not on board with that plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to [](http://calathea.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://calathea.livejournal.com/)**calathea** , who beta'd this like it was her job. Seriously, you have no idea how much this story owes to her hard work. I'm dedicating this to her in honour of her birthday, though slightly late.

 

 

"Buy you a drink, stranger?" someone said off to his left.

Mike, blushing hotly, started from where he was leaning against the bar, watching Rudy dance with a very determined, and now very disappointed, pair of co-eds. He looked away from Rudy, who had been staring back, face blank, and turned to see who had spoken to him. It turned out to be a tall, blond man – and very familiar.

"Tom!" he said, smiling. "Hey, how's it going?" He clapped him on the shoulder, happily.

"Not bad, except I think I've gotten old," Tom said, looking around and pretending to scowl. "Did this really use to be fun?"

"Not really, but we didn't care," said Mike, grinning. "Anyway, it's not like it's been that long."

"Tom," said Rudy flatly from behind Mike. When Mike turned to see him, he looked more than bored – downright irked, in fact.

Tom nodded. "Rudy. How's it going, man?"

"Fine."

Mike looked between the two men, slightly confused. As far as he knew, Tom and Rudy had always gotten along, and it really hadn't been all that long since they'd been at university together – just a couple of years. He shrugged it off. "What are you doing off the floor, Rudy?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be mixing it up with those hot girls who collared you?"

"Mmm. I don't mix it up. Particularly with girls."

Mike laughed. "You keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I'm going to go get another drink – either of you want one?"

"I was serious," Tom protested. "Let me buy you a drink."

Mike waved him off. "You can get the next round. What's your poison?"

"Vodka tonic?"

"Really?" Mike wrinkled his nose. "Okay. Maudite for you, Rudy?"

"Sure," Rudy said.

Mike headed off to the bar, carefully skirting the dance floor. He looked back and saw Tom trying to engage Rudy in conversation.

Once he had obtained the drinks, he saw a route back to Rudy and Tom open along the side wall, and he squeezed past a loud, obnoxious group of people to slide along the empty space.

He was most of the way there, just behind Rudy, when he realised what Tom was talking about. Or more precisely, whom.

"So you don't have any kind of friends-with-benefits thing going on?" Tom was asking Rudy. "You _can't_ be telling me that you didn't want to…" and he broke off for a very descriptive hand gesture.

"I can be telling you that. Actually, I think I could do a lot of things. For example, I could smash your face in right now," Rudy said, casually examining his nails. "I bet I could loosen a couple of your teeth, even, for being involved in implying something so repugnant."

Mike paled, unable to focus on anything but that last word. Repugnant? Rudy found the idea of sleeping with him repugnant? Christ, it was a good thing he hadn't shared his hip-licking plan. He backed up a few steps, not listening to what Rudy was saying next, though by the expression on Tom's face it was along the same lines. Mike tried to act naturally as he walked up with the drinks, but Rudy looked at him sharply.

"Is everything okay, Mike?" he asked, eyes slightly creased at the corners, an extravagant display of concern for Rudy.

"Oh, I'm not feeling that great," Mike said, perfectly honestly. "I was thinking I might make an early night of it, if you don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Tom seemed quite disappointed. "I only just found you again. Hey, maybe we can catch up later, if you wanted. Do you still have the same cell phone number?"

"Yeah," said Mike, shrugging. "You know me, I still have the same phone, even."

Tom laughed, a little bit more than Mike thought was warranted by the lame joke, and reached out to touch his hand. Mike glanced up at him, slightly startled at the brush of fingers, and Tom smiled guilelessly.

Mike turned to Rudy, who had been watching the interplay with narrowed eyes. "Are you ready, too? If not, I can just grab a taxi on my own."

"Yeah," said Rudy. "Not much worth staying for here tonight."

Mike shrugged and headed for the door, moving a bit slowly. So what if he'd imagined a somewhat more interesting ending to the night for the two of them? It was just lucky for him that he'd figured things out before he'd made a fool of himself in front of Rudy.

On the way out the door, he shoved his full bottle of beer into the hands of a surprised but grateful college kid.

The ride home seemed longer than usual, and Rudy kept shooting him unsettlingly searching looks. He didn't say anything, though, and neither did Mike. The word "repugnant" was still floating around in his head, filling up his thoughts.

He spent the next day puttering around his apartment, jittery but trying not to think too hard about anything. He wanted to call Rudy and see what he was up to, but kept hanging the phone up before he could dial the final digit of his number. They usually talked on Sunday nights, moaning about the shortness of the weekend, but Mike decided to skip it this week.

He spent more time than he was entirely comfortable admitting just staring in the mirror. He was skinny, yeah, and maybe not as tall as Rudy, but he wouldn't go so far as repugnant. Bony, maybe, on a bad day. But his nose was on the right way up, and maybe curly brown hair wasn't exciting, but at least he wasn't going bald – his thoughts shot uncharitably to Tom for a moment – and he had nice teeth. He bared said teeth in a bitter grin. Just because Rudy was gorgeous, he thought rebelliously, did that mean he should only sleep with other beautiful people? He didn't think so, but then what the fuck did he know?

The next day, his unhappiness had faded to a slightly defiant displeasure. That was his downfall, because Marybeth Durot cornered him in the teachers' lounge after final bell. She had the classroom next to his, teaching the French track of grade four while he took the English track. More to the point, she had a single, gay brother, and she considered it her mission to introduce him to Mike. Mike certainly wouldn't have dated anyone Vicky decided was suitable, and he had to wonder about a man who would got on a date set up by his sister. But with Rudy's words still bouncing around in his head, he agreed, somewhat recklessly, to a date with James.

He regretted it the next moment, of course, but Marybeth had beamed so brightly, he couldn't bring himself to take it back. He kept trying to find a nice way to cancel the date, all through the week, but she just kept smiling at him, frustrating his every effort. In the end, he resigned himself to a night out with James. How bad could it be?

Very bad, he mused grumpily, midway through the date as he nursed his bloody nose in the men's room. Dinner had been okay, though James had turned up his nose at a perfectly good steak, insisting it be re-cooked. When he went to pay, Mike's credit card had been declined. He'd just forgotten to activate the new one after the old one expired. Before Mike could finish fumbling out an explanation and apology, James had rolled his eyes and handed over his own card.

James had wanted to go to a punk show at a nearby club after dinner, and Mike had had enough cash to pay the cover, so he felt he'd redeemed himself a little there. After the first two songs, though, Mike had started keeping track of all the dropped notes and every time the singer lost the key. It was a depressingly long list. James was into it, though, and Mike had tried to be polite and go dance with his date. Somehow, they'd gotten into the roughest part of the pit, and James, who was dancing a bit awkwardly with his arms raised, had been shoved right into Mike, cracking the bridge of his nose with an upraised elbow.

Mike had shaken off his apologies and retreated to the men's room, where he was currently leaning against the wall, pressing a wad of paper towels against his swelling nose and regretting every kind word he'd ever said to Marybeth. The noise got louder and abruptly shut off as someone came into the room, and James poked his head around the divider. "Let me drive you home," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"Dod't worry abod it," said Mike indistinctly. "Coud've habened to ady one. I should prob'ly idce this, do."

James frowned in incomprehension for a moment before he caught on. "Oh, ice! Yeah, that's probably a good idea. So, uh," he paused for a moment, shifting his weight awkwardly, "You probably don't want to stay for the second set?" Mike stared at him incredulously, and he raced on. "Oh, of course not, no, right. Uh, let's head out, then."

Mike grabbed another wad of paper towels, and he was glad that he had, because James kept looking anxiously at his upholstery. He was torn between indignation and laughter during the thankfully short drive.

"Let me come in and get you set up with some ice," said James, seemingly sorry for his rather ungracious reaction to it all.

Mike shrugged. "You dod't habe to, bud you cad if you wadt."

"I do," he said. Mike fished his keys out of his pocket, and James whisked them away to unlock his door. Mike tried not to wince as the keys scraped across his fingers from the too-hasty gesture.

"Hi," said James, uncertainly, pushing ahead of Mike and then stopping abruptly just inside the door, blocking Mike's view of the living room.

"Hi," said Rudy. Mike peeked around James and waved with his free hand.

"Hey, Rudy," he said thickly. "How's id goidg?"

"What happened?" Rudy asked tensely, glaring at James.

"Bosh pid," Mike said, heading for the kitchen and the bag of frozen peas. "Dod't worry, id was ad accidedt."

"Uh, Mike, I think I'm going to take off," said James uneasily. "Your, uh, friend seems able to take care of things. Say hi to Marybeth for me on Monday." Mike's keys clattered on the side table and the door slammed behind him with indecent haste.

Rudy followed Mike into the kitchen and pushed him lightly into a chair, pushing his head back and efficiently pulling away the paper towels. He rinsed a kitchen towel at the sink and swabbed at Mike's face. Mike just sat there and let him, unresisting. After Rudy finished mopping up Mike's blood, he went to the fridge and dug out the peas, wrapping another towel around it before gingerly laying it across Mike's face.

He sat down across the table from Mike. "What was that about?"

"I've just had the worst date ever," said Mike, his voice nearly back to normal.

"Oh?" Rudy asked, his voice very slightly pleased.

"Yeah. He was late to pick me up, because his car got a flat tire. Then, the restaurant overcooked his steak and declined my credit card, and he accidentally elbowed me in the face while we listened to the world's worst band." Mike's quick recap was reminding him of his irritation. "To top it off, he wanted to stay for the second set!"

Rudy snorted, but when Mike briefly lifted the frozen vegetables from his face to glare, he looked completely calm. He flicked his fingers at Mike to get him to put the icepack back into place, and Mike obliged. He sighed and continued, "It was so horrible. And now I have to face his sister at work on Monday. If he tells her even half of what happened, she'll be so upset. Dammit, I know I shouldn't have let her set us up."

"You should have let me know you wanted to be dragged out for a bad steak and a punch in the nose. I could've managed that," commented Rudy.

"Yeah, right," said Mike. He would've snorted if his nose had been in any condition for it. Christ, a pity date with a hot, platonic best friend who found you physically repugnant? "No thanks."

Rudy hesitated. "Oh," he said.

"Hey, I need a beer after this ordeal," Mike decided, trying to change the subject quickly. "You want one?"

"No, I – I should get home," Rudy said.

"Why were you over here tonight, anyway?" asked Mike.

"I just wanted to talk to you about something. It's a good thing I was here, isn't it, though?" Rudy patted his shoulder as he passed him to grab a beer from the fridge and put it in front of Mike. "Don't move your head for another ten minutes."

Mike lifted his hand in acknowledgment. He didn't really want the beer, but he drank it anyway, in silence, alone. It tasted flat.

The next day, Mike was depressed to see the double shiners he was developing. The frozen peas had come too late, he figured, poking at the bruises. He wasn't pleased to think about the reaction of the kids in his classroom – half of them would be fighting each other for weeks after seeing him like this, trying to get matching black eyes. Grade fours were pretty damn impressionable. He thought briefly about using a little bit of concealer, but he shuddered at the prospect of being discovered using makeup. He shrugged. Fights it was.

He was still contemplating his bruises when his cell phone buzzed. "Hey," he answered.

"Hey, Mike," said Tom. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I'm just looking at my black eyes," Mike said absently. He poked one last time at the puffiest part and hissed slightly. Tom hadn't replied, and he realised how that must have sounded. "I had a mosh pit mishap last night," he explained.

"Aha!" Tom still sounded startled. "I thought maybe you'd given Rudy what-for or something."

"Oh, he'd destroy me in a fight," Mike said, cheerfully. "He's only been in one fight that I know of, but you should've seen him. He's a crazy man when you get him riled. Anyway, why did you call?"

Tom cleared his throat. "Er, I was wondering if you wanted to go grab dinner or something?"

Mike scowled at the mirror. "Sure, as soon as my bruises die down. I refuse to go out in public looking like a battered spouse. Next weekend okay?"

"Great!" Tom sounded terribly excited. "I'll swing by and get you around 6. Can you give me directions to your place?"

Mike wasn't great at directions, but he did his best.

"Cool," said Tom. "It was so great to see you last week. I wanted to ask you out years ago, but I always thought it was you and Rudy, you know."

Mike laughed, a little hollowly. "No, there's no me and Rudy."

"And was I glad to hear it!" Tom was entirely too chipper, and Mike frowned at himself in the mirror. "Well, I'll see you next week," Tom said.

"Yeah," said Mike. "Looking forward to it." He closed the phone and threw it, harder than was entirely warranted, onto the bureau.

The phone rang again. Mike retrieved it, feeling guilty about mistreating a defenceless inanimate object. He checked the number – it was familiar, somehow, but he didn't recognize it.

"Hello?" Mike said.

"Fuck you and your hello!" his caller said. It went downhill from there. It wasn't until the mysterious caller mentioned his brother that Mike realised who was on the other end of the line.

"Broth -- Is this Jeff?" Mike demanded, appalled. "What the hell did I do to your brother?"

"Oh, don't even pretend like you don't know, Mike," Jeff hissed, and hung up. Mike blinked at his phone, and tossed it back onto the bureau.

He walked over to his bed and flopped down, wrapping himself in the duvet. "That's it," he mumbled to himself. "I call today over." He managed to sleep surprisingly well for a sunny Saturday afternoon, but that meant that he was up in time for crappy Saturday evening television.

Happily, that also meant that he was awake for a late night text from Rudy: _Are you decent for company?_

Mike debated with himself, but he wanted to see Rudy, so he texted back: _Sadly, yes. Come on by._

Rudy was there within 20 minutes, which was flatteringly quick. Although, Mike allowed that there might not be a problem with traffic at -- he winced -- 2 am.

He let himself in and flung himself down on the couch next to Mike. "I've just gotten out of the office," he said.

"What?" Mike took a double take at the clock -- yes, it said AM next to the 2. "What the hell have you been working on?"

"We're facilitating a corporate merger. Sometimes these things come up," Rudy said, as if he was quoting someone. "Due to unavoidable cir-cum-stan-ces." He put his head back on the sofa.

"That sucks," said Mike. Rudy made a quiet noise of exhausted assent, then reached over and stole one of Mike's cushions out from underneath him. "You do have your own apartment, don't you?" Mike asked mildly.

Rudy looked over at him and almost smiled. "Yes," he said, "but your couch is more comfortable."

"If you hadn't insisted on getting some fancy modern couch, maybe you'd be able to fall asleep on it," retorted Mike. It was too late, because Rudy had fallen asleep before he could finish the sentence, still sitting straight up. Mike spent a long minute studying his face in repose, remembering how he'd looked when they'd first met. Rudy still pouted slightly when he wasn't paying strict attention to ruling his face, and Mike spent several minutes looking at the curve of his lip, trying not to lean over and kiss him awake.

Mike sighed wistfully and got up. He shoved Rudy over so that he was lying down on the sofa, and yanked down the afghan his sister had somewhat haphazardly crocheted for him. He looked down at Rudy, sighed, and headed back off to bed, hopefully to fall asleep at some point before dawn.

He woke up again at around 10, to the delightful smells of coffee and frying things. He snagged a t-shirt that looked fairly clean on his way out of the bedroom, and didn't bother changing out of his most comfortable pair of drawstring pants.

"Rudy, you're my hero," he said, shuffling out to the kitchen. As he walked, he tugged on the shirt, banging into the door frame when it got stuck on his raised elbows. He fought with the neck, ending up flushed and triumphant when he finally emerged.

Rudy turned to look at him from in front of the stove. His mouth was slightly open, as if he'd been about to say something, but he was just staring. Mike ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously. "What?" he asked, a touch of defensiveness in his voice.

"Nothing," said Rudy. "Just admiring your bruises."

"What bruises?" Mike demanded. He whipped the shirt back up and took a quick look at his torso. Sure enough, there were several darkening patches. "I must have gotten them in the mosh pit. I guess punk fans have sharp elbows." He looked up, and Rudy was staring again. He pushed the shirt down and crossed his arms.

Rudy looked away first. "Coffee?"

"Sure," said Mike, happy to move on from the weirdly uncomfortable moment. "What are you frying?"

"Bacon, ham, and sausages. I could put some eggs on, too, if you wanted."

Mike silently blessed Rudy's cooking skills. When they'd roomed together during university, Rudy's first expression of "I don't cook" was met with Mike's firm "Then you don't eat," and a truce was struck. Happily, Rudy had quickly outstripped Mike on the culinary field – not that Mike was at all surprised.

Rudy handed him a mug of coffee, laden with exactly the right amounts of cream and sugar, and prompted, "Eggs?"

"Nah." Mike waved his hand. "Too healthy." Rudy nodded soberly, as if in complete agreement, and Mike snorted. "So tell me, o mighty corporate raider, what kept you at work until the wee hours last night?"

"The incompetence of my co-workers, naturally." Rudy didn't let any expression past his mask, but Mike could tell he was boiling mad from the way his hands twisted the dishtowel he held.

"Care to expand? I'm only a teacher, but I might be able to understand the world of high finance if you use little words," said Mike.

Rudy made a small noise of wordless frustration, then sat down with his own mug. "We were trying to stage a hostile takeover the easy way. Someone on my team let it slip to the target, and now we're going to have to do it the hard way."

Something about his face looked oddly pleased, though, and Mike regarded him for a moment. Somehow he thought Rudy didn't mind doing things the hard way – it was more of a challenge that way. He'd have to earn his half-million bonus this year. He winced, trying not to think about that part of things for too long.

"So, do you have to go back to the office today?"

"No, I'm all yours today," Rudy said, sipping coffee.

Mike stopped himself from even thinking 'I only wish', and just smiled.

"If you wanted to go do something," Rudy continued, "I can probably help you get rid of the memories of your date – exorcise the demons of bad luck."

Mike told himself sternly that Rudy didn't mean to sound so suggestive, and replied as if he hadn't had any instant mental ideas of what Rudy could do to help get rid of the memories from Friday night. "Ugh, it was so awful. I hope the next one goes better. Though I'm not holding my breath."

"Are you actually seeing him again?" Rudy sounded incredulous.

"No, Tom called yesterday to see if I wanted to go out next weekend. It sounded like fun." Mike wrinkled his nose. "I hope I have better luck with this date than the last one. Anyway, let's just stay here. There's less chance of a disaster – though it's not like I can get more black eyes."

Rudy sat there for a moment without replying, his eyes calculating, and Mike worried for the briefest of moments. But he nodded firmly and headed to the stove to plate the frying meat. "So, when's the big date?" he asked, his back to Mike.

"Saturday night," Mike said. "He mentioned doing something during the week, but I wanted to give the bruises a chance to die down first. Oh, dammit," he said as he remembered something. "I'm getting dinner with Vicky on Tuesday, and she'll probably tell Mom and Dad, and it'll all be a downward spiral of concern until Great-Aunt Imogene calls with condolences on my passing. Damn, damn."

Rudy's shoulders shook a little, and Mike could've sworn that he heard a tiny snort of laughter, but when he turned around with platefuls of breakfast in his hands, his face was clear of expression. "Oh, I'm certain she'd wait for the obituary, first."

"You're probably right." Mike heaved an entirely fake sigh of relief, and Rudy tipped his head in acknowledgment before devoting himself to his breakfast, a lead which Mike happily followed.

As they were finishing up, the phone rang. Mike answered, to hear heavy breathing and a muttered obscenity. "Oh, hey," he said. "Your brother's here, did you want to talk to him?"

The caller hung up abruptly, and Mike smiled.

"Why is Jeff calling you?" Rudy asked.

"Oh, he's a bit irked. Seems to think I've done you wrong, or something." Mike snorted. "God only knows how he got that idea. I've never gotten obscene phone calls before, it's sort of a novelty."

"I wouldn't tell him that you liked the calls, if I were you," Rudy advised.

"I wouldn't say like, exactly," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, you want to watch the game?"

Rudy shrugged. "Lay on, Macduff."

 

On Monday morning, Mike's fears were realised: Marybeth had had news of the date. She thrust her head into his classroom when she first arrived, smiling widely.

"Coffee?" she asked. "C'mon, come gossip with me."

Mike got up, groaning slightly under his breath. The bruises on his torso were beginning to make themselves felt, and moving was just on the wrong side of comfortable. "There's not much to gossip about," he protested.

"That's not what I heard," she trilled, turning and making for the teachers' lounge.

"What did you hear?" he asked, trailing along in her wake.

She turned and grinned at him over her shoulder. "Just that dinner was nice and James had a really fun time at the show." Her grin faltered for a moment. "He wasn't very clear on the end of the date. I hope it ended well!" She looked at him closely for a moment. "And where on earth did you get those bruises? I hope you didn't go out looking like that!"

Mike couldn't blame James for giving an incomplete report of the date, but now he wondered if he'd outright lied to his sister. He thought about Vicky and silently sympathised with James – he'd have fibbed too, if he could get away with it. He pasted on a smile and followed Marybeth, prepared to lie his head off.

 

As soon as the next day, he wished fervently that he'd opted for the truth. Marybeth seemed to regard him as the next best thing to a brother-in-law, a conclusion Mike didn't even know how to dispel. She kept referring to him as her brother's boyfriend, and seemed to have gotten her ideas of gay men from bad American television. Before the day was out, he started hiding when she passed his classroom.

Mike was thrilled to escape the school for his early dinner with Vicky that afternoon, in lieu of another of Marybeth's proposed gossip-fests. He'd arranged to meet his sister at a vegetarian place on Danforth, and predictably, she was late. She rushed inside out of breath, with a pair of toe shoes slung over her shoulder and clutching a gym bag that was larger than she was. She dropped into the chair across from Mike, graceful even in her rush. She unzipped the bag and shoved the shoes inside, then leaned it against the wall. Important things thus taken care of, she turned to her brother. And gasped. "Mike! Your poor face!"

He smiled a little bit. "Hi, Vicky. Class run over?"

"Madame is a total bitch by the end of afternoon classes, that's nothing new," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "But Mike, what happened to your face?" she hesitated. "Did you get in a fight with Rudy?"

"What? Why would Rudy hit me?"

"That wasn't a no." Her eyes narrowed in concern.

"Yes! I mean, yes, it was a no! I mean, no, Rudy didn't beat me up. This was an accident, at a club. I got elbowed in the face in a mosh pit."

"That sounds really stupid. I'm surprised Rudy would let you do something that dumb." Vicky frowned.

"I wasn't with Rudy," Mike protested. "And what do you mean, he wouldn't let me?"

She rolled her eyes. "So if you weren't with Rudy, who was with you?"

"I was on a date, if you must know, Miss Nosy," he retorted, and signalled for the waiter.

"A date?" She seemed utterly horrified by the news. "Did you and Rudy break up? Oh, and here I've been talking about him, I'm such a jerk!" The waiter showed up, and she barely glanced at him. "Spring rolls and green curry with mock duck," she said. "Mike'll have the pad thai. Water's fine."

Mike exchanged glances with the waiter, who looked amused, and Mike smiled back. The waiter winked, to Mike's bemusement, and headed off. Vicky glared at Mike. "I'm not surprised Rudy broke up with you, if that's how you act when you're with him. Honestly, when did you start being such a flirt?"

"I was just being friendly," Mike protested.

Vicky snorted. "Is that what you call it? So how can we get Rudy to forgive you?"

Mike sighed. As usual, Vicky had gotten about ten steps ahead of him. "Vicky, there is no forgiveness to be had, because not only haven't Rudy and I fought, we have never actually been together."

"What do you mean? You've been together for ages. This is so depressing," she sighed.

"No, we haven't been together," Mike corrected her. "Did you think he and I were dating?"

"Well, yeah," she said, as if he were being exceptionally slow. "Of course you guys were dating, and you can't try to tell me different, because I won't believe you."

Mike threw his hands up. "Well, then, what can I say?"

The waiter slid Vicky's spring rolls onto the table and seemed even more amused to overhear the conversation, but Mike didn't want to risk incurring another accusation of flirting by looking directly at him.

"Seriously, Mike," she said, leaning over the table and lowering her voice, "How can I help you if you won't tell me what's going on? Why are you trying to shut me out of your life like this?" She seemed to be getting upset, and Mike knew that tears were just around the corner.

He handed her a roll. "Eat something, Vic. You're getting upset." Her lip wobbled. "Please? For me?"

She sighed but took the roll, looking away from him as she made quick inroads into the dish. She polished off the plate – Mike was always astonished by how much she put away. "How's L'ecole working out?" he asked. "Mom told me to keep an eye on you while you're here in the big city."

She sighed but accepted the turn in conversation. "It's fine. I told you, Madame is kind of harsh, but it's nothing I didn't expect. I'm thinking about trying out for a national tour for next summer. Plus, if you hadn't totally scorned Rudy, I was going to ask if he minded going running with me sometimes."

"Go for it," Mike said, waving his hand. "We're just friends, honestly. Honestly!" he protested when she rolled her eyes and looked ready to resume her pout.

Luckily for Mike, the food arrived just then, and Vicky was too busy stuffing her face to talk. She'd eaten all of her meal and most of Mike's before she said anything else.

"I'm telling Mom," she said, her mouth full.

"What?" Mike asked, utterly lost.

"About you and Rudy breaking up. She'll be mad too," said Vicky triumphantly. "I bet she calls and yells at you right away. She'll want to know about the bruises too." She sat back, obviously aware that she was playing a strong hand.

"What do you want?" Mike said.

"Oh, my dear brother, I just want you to be happy," she chirped, syrupy sweet. She paused. "And it would be really super to borrow your car this weekend."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Saturday to Sunday okay? I need to be able to get to work first thing Monday morning, so you have to make sure to put some gas in the tank."

"That's just for the black eye thing. It's going to take a lot more not to tell her about Rudy." She sat back, her finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I'll have to think about it. I might need to tell her no matter what, just to get some advice."

Mike moaned. "Come on, Vicky. Do you want me to throw a party for your dance school buddies or something? Anything."

"That's a great idea!" Vicky bounced in her seat. "Mike, you're so smart. You're the best brother ever, I swear."

"And Mom doesn't hear about any of this? And that means neither does Dad, so don't even try," said Mike, used to negotiating every aspect of buying his baby sister's silence.

"Fine," she said. "Saturday after this one okay for the party?"

"That's fine with me. Everyone has to be out by 1."

"Two."

"One-thirty."

"Done. And you buy all the booze."

"What? Come on!" She put on her stubborn face and he relented. "Fine. But you have to come help clean before and after."

She shrugged. "Your place is always so messy, it's not like you'll notice if anyone trashes it."

Mike frowned. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but I'd still care."

The waiter cleared his throat, and they both looked up, startled. He looked terribly amused, and Mike suspected that he'd been standing there for quite awhile. "Er, the check," he said, and walked off.

Vicky sat back, and Mike took it. He gave it a quick glance, then a longer, second look. He was pretty certain that it wasn't standard practice to scrawl RICK 905-828-4954 across most patrons' tabs. He smiled and put the small piece of paper into his pocket, leaving a twenty on the table. "C'mon, Vicky," he said. "I'll give you a ride back to your place."

"You're the best, Mike," she said, and grabbed her bag. He held out his hand, and she happily surrendered it. He staggered slightly under the unexpected weight – a weight that she'd merrily tripped in with. Rick gave him another wink as he left, and Mike smiled back. Not that he'd call, but it was certainly flattering to be flirted with.

The next day, Mike gave in and called James. Marybeth had gotten wise to his best hiding spots in his classroom, and he didn't feel safe in the break room anymore. He felt hunted at the thought of any more 'sisterly chats' with anyone not his actual sister – come to think of it, he didn't really feel up to another sisterly chat with Vicky, either.

James seemed oddly reluctant to dispel Marybeth's misapprehensions, but he finally agreed to talk to her. In the meantime, Mike pasted on a bright smile and headed to get a long-overdue cup of coffee.

When Vicky arrived with three giggling ballet dancers to pick up the car on Saturday morning, Mike handed over the keys with extreme reluctance. He watched his car drive away wistfully, then decided to tackle some chores, since he was stuck at home.

After throwing a pile of laundry from the couch to the floor, he unearthed the remote, however, and he remembered that there was a game on. After Accardo threw a three-run homer, he called Rudy to shout incoherently.

"Don't you have a date tonight?" Rudy asked.

"Yeah," Mike answered, glancing at the clock. "I should probably throw my lucky shirt into the wash pretty soon. Hey, do you want to come over and watch the rest of the game from over here?"

"I don't know. Having another guy around when you're picked up for a date? Pretty shady," he said.

Mike laughed, a little bitterly. "Of all people, Tom should know why he doesn't need to worry about you and me," he said.

Rudy made a non-committal noise. "I'll be there for the top of the seventh," he said.

"Good," said Mike absently. "They might put Ryan in early and save us all some grief."

"I live in hope," said Rudy, and hung up.

As promised, he was there quickly, but he seemed a bit distracted. "I'm going to go get a beer," he said after only a couple of outs. Mike waved his hand at him absently.

"My home is your home, you know that," he said.

"Really?" Rudy said smoothly, and then left the room. Mike looked after him in confusion for a moment, then shrugged and looked back at the screen.

Rudy took longer than Mike had expected in the kitchen – he didn't get back for nearly an inning. "Get lost in the kitchen?" he joked.

"That kitchen table you have is tricky to navigate," said Rudy, which made Mike snort with laughter.

"I'm going to go throw some stuff in the wash," he decided at the next break in action, hauling himself up off the sofa.

Rudy just nodded.

Mike didn't notice the water, at first. But he stood up at the end of the game, and the rug squelched under his feet. He yelped and dove for the laundry room, just past the kitchen. "What the hell?"

Rudy followed him, more sedately.

The cover of the washing machine was askew, and suds and scraps of fabric were slowly oozing forth. "My shirt!" exclaimed Mike, and dove for the machine. Lifting the lid didn't stop the carnage, and he started hitting at the buttons. Rudy's hand snaked in past him, and he did something to the controls that stopped the machine in its carnivorous tracks.

Mike sorrowfully pulled out his favourite blue shirt, which was now in ribbons. He threw it onto the dryer and pulled at the rest of the laundry. The machine refused to surrender easily. Rudy had to help him tug at his best jeans, the leg of which remained in the drum.

Mike barely registered Rudy peeking into the pockets of the jeans – he was busy staring into the machine in despair. Rudy pulled a small piece of paper from one of the pockets, tilting his head as he read it.

"Oh dear," said Rudy mildly, crushing the small piece of sodden paper into a little wad.

"What?" said Mike.

"You left a receipt in your pocket, that's all," said Rudy calmly, throwing the paper across the room into the kitchen trash.

Mike shrugged. "Probably not important."

"No."

"I should figure out how to fix this," Mike sighed at the prospect.

"You mop," decreed Rudy. "I fix."

"Thanks, Rudy," said Mike, smiling at him. "You're the best." Then he winced. "But I should call Tom and cancel first."

"Yes," agreed Rudy.

Mike trudged across the squishy rug once more to retrieve his cell phone. "Hey Tom," he said when Tom answered. "Look, I've had sort of a disaster over here – I'm going to have to cancel our date tonight. I'm really sorry."

"Oh," said Tom, his voice disappointed.

"Did you maybe want to reschedule?" asked Mike. Rudy shot him a look that was not quite a glare – presumably for talking on the phone when he was supposed to be mopping – and he turned slightly away.

"Well, I have baseball tickets for next Thursday," said Tom. "They're pretty good, but I know how you feel about sports."

"Oh, I just hate playing them," Mike said. "Baseball sounds great!"

After he hung up, he dutifully went for the mop under Rudy's scrutiny.

"Baseball?" Rudy said, softly, and something made an ominous clanking noise in the washing machine.

"Yes, baseball," said Mike defensively, and attacked another puddle.

[Link to part 2](http://sociofemme.livejournal.com/380322.html)


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Rudy!" Mike exclaimed. "Hey, when did you get here?" Rudy was just barely out of breath and slightly flushed, as if he'd run up several flights of stairs.

"I just got here, Mike. How are you?"

"Oh, you know," Mike said, waving his hand.

"Hi," Tom said weakly. "Jeez, what a thing to happen, eh?"

"What exactly did happen?" Rudy asked. "Mike called me, and he wasn't exactly what you'd call helpful."

"Oh, hey, Rudy!" he exclaimed. "When did you get here?" He was glad that Rudy had arrived, finally. Tom hadn't been much for conversation, and Mike was pretty bored with his hospital room. He wasn't quite sure why he'd called Tom instead of Rudy—he usually called Rudy. Maybe now that Rudy was finally here, he would help him get checked out and drive him home.

Rudy paused. "I – just got here," he said. "You don't remember me being here before?"

"Nope," said Mike cheerfully. "Hit my head." He wasn't quite sure he remembered how it happened, but it hurt like a mother.

"I see." Rudy looked at Tom, who seemed unnerved, both by Mike's welcome and by Rudy's lack of reaction.

"Hey, Tom," said Mike. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in law school, not med school."

"No, I, uh, you were right, I'm in law school," said Tom, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he looked to Rudy and pulled a baseball out of his pocket. "He, uh, we were sitting off the third base line, and someone hit a foul ball, and Mike wasn't paying attention. It got him right in the forehead."

Rudy nodded. "You didn't feel up to catching it?" The sarcasm was devastating.

Tom winced. "I, uh, I was trying to call over the beer guy." He tossed the baseball in one hand, absently.

Rudy reached out and caught the baseball smoothly. "You'll wish this was all that hit you if you ever come near Mike again." Rudy's face was blank, but the threat was clear. Tom paled and Rudy nodded. "We understand each other, eh?"

"Rudy!" said Mike, shocked.

"Yes, Mike?" said Rudy, not looking in his direction, but baring his teeth slightly at Tom, who paled even further.

When had Rudy arrived, Mike wondered. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it; he was sure he'd been waiting. "Rudy!" Mike exclaimed. "Hey, when did you get here?"

"Just now," Rudy said. "What do you remember, Mike?"

"Hit my head on something, I think." he replied. He looked at Tom. "Tom, how the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in ages! What are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing," Tom said, looking oddly shaken, and left abruptly.

"I think I'm going to go to sleep," Mike announced.

"I'll check with your doctor," Rudy said, and left. Mike wondered why for a moment, then the pull of exhaustion dragged him down into sleep.

The next morning, his head pounded like a bass drum. It had been a choppy night, with nurses shaking him awake every time he was finally getting back to sleep. He thought Rudy had been there, but the chair next to him was empty. He frowned and grabbed his phone from the bedside table.

"Hey, Tom," he said.

"Mike," Tom replied, sounding a bit nervous. "Hey, are you doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm doing okay, I think. I don't remember much of yesterday, though. Can you fill me in?"

"You got hit by a foul ball at the game. For the rest, uh, I think you'd probably better ask Rudy about that," said Tom evasively. "Look, I've gotta go. I'll talk to you later, okay?" He hung up, and Mike stared at his phone in curiosity for a minute, then shrugged and set it down again.

Just then, Vicky tumbled through the door of his hospital room, followed by Rudy at a more sedate pace. "Mike," she said, almost crying, "Rudy came to get me. What have you been doing to yourself?"

He held out his arms and tried not to wince when she flung herself at him, jostling his head. Rudy caught his eye over her head, and managed to convey a complicated blend of apology and amusement without actually moving his face, a feat which impressed Mike very much with the part of his brain that wasn't occupied with consoling his sister.

"Vicky, I'll be fine," he said. "It was just a foul ball, and I'm not having any more problems with my memory."

"Are you sure?" Rudy asked.

"Yeah," Vicky chimed in, lifting her head. "Maybe stuff happened and you don't remember that you forgot."

"Is this the first time I've said hello to you today?" he asked her.

"Well, yes."

"Then my memory's doing much better. I'm pretty sure I said hello to Rudy several times last night when he came over."

Vicky's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he raced right over when he heard you were hurt?" She glared pointedly at Mike, and Mike glared right back at her.

Rudy coughed, distracting them from their staring match. "Actually, it was several dozen times, Mike."

Mike frowned. "Really?"

"Every three minutes or so," Rudy confirmed.

"So is my party still on for tomorrow?" she asked.

Mike sighed. "Mom doesn't hear about the concussion from you. You let me call her."

"Within the week," Vicky specified. "I'm calling her next weekend — and telling her everything, otherwise," she added direly.

"Fine. I would've told her anyway," Mike said grumpily. "You're supposed to be nice to me, I'm injured."

"If I waited for you to stop being injured to be mean, I'd never get to," she said.

"Hope springs eternal," said Mike. "Rudy, you're being awfully quiet."

"Your sister is perfectly capable of blackmailing you without my assistance," he said. "Unless you'd particularly like us to gang up on you?"

"No, no," Mike said, holding his hands up in alarm. "Forget I said anything!"

Vicky turned to look speculatively at Rudy. "I like your ideas. I'd like to subscribe to your newsletter."

Mike groaned, and Vicky giggled. Rudy seemed amused by their nonsense.

"When can I get sprung from this joint?" Mike asked plaintively.

"When you remember your doctor's name," Rudy said.

"Doctor?" Mike frowned. "I saw a lot of nurses, but no doctor."

"There you go." Rudy sat down.

Mike pouted at Vicky, but she just seemed amused now that she knew Mike was okay.

"Hey, shouldn't you be at work?" Mike remembered. "Isn't it Friday? Hell, I should be at work."

"I called them," said Rudy. "Both of them. Marybeth says hello and get well soon, apparently." He looked significantly at a large flower arrangement, and Mike closed his eyes and groaned.

"I'm never going back," he muttered.

"I think the flowers are meant as an apology," said Rudy. "She hadn't realised what had really happened on your date with her brother." He tsked disapprovingly. "Don't worry, I told her the truth."

Mike leaned back on his pillow and gingerly covered his face with his hands. "That's it, I'm quitting for real. Do you need an assistant, Rudy?"

"I could probably find a position for you," said Rudy. "I'd give work another shot, though."

 

It was a very long, fairly boring morning, and Vicky left to get in some studio time, but eventually Dr. Carter arrived, Mike successfully remembered her name, and Rudy drove him home.

Mike looked at his living room in despair. "I was going to spend today cleaning up for Vicky's party," he realised. He looked at Rudy hopefully.

"I don't clean," Rudy said calmly.

Mike made a face at him, then brought his hand up to his head, wincing dramatically. He staggered over to the couch, moaning weakly.

"I still don't clean," said Rudy.

Mike dropped the pretense and thought about begging. He looked around and sighed. "Maybe they won't notice," he said optimistically.

"It's not a party for the School for the Blind," Rudy commented, eyeing Mike as he sat on the couch. Expressionlessly, he started picking up some of the dishes that littered the coffee and side tables. Mike heaved himself up to help, and Rudy stuck out a hand, casually shoving him back down. Surprised but happy, Mike watched as Rudy made extremely short work of tidying up.

He returned from a trip to the kitchen and flopped on the sofa next to Mike. "I'm supposed to stay here and keep an eye on you," he said.

"I don't recall the doctor saying that," said Mike, frowning as he tried to remember the exact directions.

"See?" said Rudy. "Plus, I can drive you to get things for tomorrow. You probably shouldn't drive."

"I don't think a headache prevents me from driving," Mike objected.

"It doesn't," said Rudy. "I've just seen you drive, and I don't think you should."

Mike snorted. He leaned back a bit more until he was almost touching Rudy, feeling his body heat across the scant inch that separated them. Rudy shifted slightly and sighed, leaning his head towards Mike. Mike sagged against him so that they were leaning together. He was so comfortable, so comfortable, and he heard Rudy saying something, but he had drifted off to sleep before he could register more than the sound of that soft voice humming in his ear.

The next morning, Mike woke in his own bed to a vague sense of disorientation, and a very non-vague headache. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillows, groaning in pain.

"Here," said Rudy, his hand holding a pair of beautiful, beautiful pain pills. Mike ignored everything else except the pills and then the glass of water Rudy held out to him, then sat up. Rudy was standing at the edge of his bed watching him with slight concern, head tilted to the side as he watched Mike get his bearings. "Alive?" he asked.

"Dunno," grunted Mike. "Gimme a minute."

Rudy nodded. "Not a morning person, Webster?"

"At least there aren't any bugles," he joked weakly.

"Or bunk beds," returned Rudy.

"Thank God," said Mike. "I love my bed." He lay back down, unable to contemplate another moment even semi-vertical, and Rudy coughed suddenly, turning away to set down the water glass. Mike looked down at himself and tugged the blanket over his chest self-consciously – when had he gotten undressed for bed?

"So, stuff for the party?" Mike asked, still prone. "When should we go?"

"When you can sit up for more than two minutes," said Rudy, and abruptly left the room.

Mike shrugged, then regretted it as the headache redoubled.

Nearly an hour later, the pain medication had kicked in enough that Mike was able to contemplate the prospect of the world outside his bedroom door. Rudy very patiently drove him to the supermarket, the Beer Store, and the LCBO, and noticeably rolled his eyes but carried in the bundles of food and liquor for Mike.

The trip had exhausted most of Mike's energy, and he decided that a few hours lounging on the sofa was called for. To his surprise, Rudy seemed to be content to sit with him and watch undemanding television. He decided not to ask why.

Vicky finally arrived with a small entourage of other tall, slender young women, all of whom seemed very excited to meet Rudy. Mike saw a hint of panic touching his expression, but he was immediately collared by Vicky, so he couldn't lend any assistance. She insisted on an inspection of the provisions, towing Mike behind her as she made her way to the kitchen.

She only gave the kitchen the most cursory of glances before hissing, "What's this I hear about you cheating on Rudy? I thought you two weren't dating?" She gave the last question a distinctly sarcastic twist.

"What? Where did you hear that?" he asked, bewildered.

"Jeff called me yesterday," she said, scowling. "He said that Rudy turned up on his sofa a few weekends ago, acting like he'd just been dumped or something."

"Why would you assume that it's my fault?" Mike asked, feeling extremely aggrieved.

She snorted. "Who else, genius?"

"Is that why he's been prank-calling me all the time?" Mike said, light dawning at last.

"And for two cents I'd join him!" she said. "Rudy's so sweet, how could you?"

"Sweet?" Mike choked. "Not the adjective I'd have picked."

She flung her hands up in the air. "You don't deserve him, then," she said, and stalked out of the kitchen. Mike remained and frowned at the fridge, feeling that he had somehow lost that argument, but not entirely sure why.

He grabbed a beer, draining half of it before he remembered his pain medication, and the fact that he wasn't supposed to drink. He set down the bottle and shrugged. He'd be fine, he was sure.

Not quite an hour later, more people had arrived and the party seemed to be shifting into full swing. Mike felt a bit dizzy and vague, both from headache and the ill-advised half-beer, and he looked around, searching for Rudy. He seemed to be trapped in a cage of long, flailing limbs, as Vicky's ballerina friends displayed their distinctly non-classical grasp of popular dance. He cast a glance at Mike composed of equal parts exasperation and a plea for rescue, but Mike was not a brave enough man to plow into that crowd. He shrugged apologetically and turned, planning to escape to his room for some respite.

Mike stumbled slightly, bumping into the corner. He patted the wall and apologised, then made his way slowly down the hall to his room. Unfortunately, it was already occupied. A tall, broad man, a few years older than Mike, was sitting cross-legged in the centre of the room, eyes closed against the dim light.

"I'm sorry," said Mike, glancing around to make sure he'd gotten the right room. He was a little bleary, but he could definitely still find his bedroom in his own apartment.

The man's eyes flew open, and he looked up guiltily. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Crowds get to me after awhile. I just came in here to breathe for a few minutes."

"No, no," Mike said, waving his hand. "'s fine, fine. I don't like crowds either." He went and sat on the edge of the bed and regarded the other man somewhat owlishly. He seemed familiar. "I'm Mike," he said, sticking out his hand.

"Charles," said the man. "I can leave, if you want."

"Nah, you're fine," Mike said, yawning hugely after he said it. "Sorry! So, what do you do?" He seriously thought he'd seen the guy before, but he really couldn't place him.

"I'm at the NBS like everyone else here," Charles said. "I made a career change a few years ago – decided to teach dance."

"What did you do before that?" Mike inquired, but Charles frowned so fiercely that he held up his hand. "Never mind. It's just that you look so familiar. I'm trying to figure out where we might've met."

"Is that anything like 'Have I seen you around?'" Charles said, looking up at Mike through his eyelashes.

"Perhaps a bit," he said, not particularly interested in flirting, but unwilling to be entirely rude. "Any hints?"

Charles hauled himself up to the edge of the bed so that he was sitting next to Mike, and tilted his head. "Well, I used to go by a nickname," he said. "Maybe we met when I was still using it."

"What nickname?" Mike asked. Charles was a little closer than he thought he had been a moment before.

Charles said a nickname, and Mike didn't register it at first, trying to discreetly edge away. "Sorry, what?" he said.

"Chip — I used to go by Chip."

Mike screeched and flung himself backward. A moment later, the door flew open and Rudy stalked inside, closing the door and leaning against it. Mike had to stop himself from laughing hysterically. Now that he had placed Chip in his memory, the tableau had wanted only one thing to make it complete – and now he was here.

"You don't remember me?" Mike asked from his spot huddled at the head of his bed.

Chip looked from him to Rudy, and Mike could pinpoint the exact moment when the penny dropped for him. "Miller!" he gibbered. "Webster! Miller and Webster!"

Rudy cocked his head. "Why do you have a clone in your room, Mike?" he asked mildly.

It only inflamed Chip, of course – that was probably why he'd done it, Mike supposed. He was standing and pacing, now, rather like a caged lion. He kept darting longing looks at the door, but Rudy was firmly planted, and Chip seemed unwilling to confront him.

"How have you been, Chip?" said Rudy.

Chip howled. "Miller! What are you doing here?"

"Well, Mike lives here," he said. "So I'm here quite a lot." He shot an unreadable look at Mike, who was trying to restrain his hysterical urge to laugh, mostly unsuccessfully. "I think the question is, what are you doing here?"

"He's a dance instructor," Mike choked out. "He's studying at the NBS."

"Really?" Rudy's eyes lit up. "Oh, Chip, you have cheered me up in my hour of need."

Chip looked hysterical, and Mike subtly edged back toward the wall, putting a couple of pillows between him and the angry clone.

"Rudy, you might want to let him out," Mike suggested.

"No, I want to know what he's doing in here, making you scream like a girl," Rudy said, sounding unexpectedly stern.

"I was just startled," said Mike defensively. "Besides, I didn't scream. I shouted. Yelled. It was totally manly."

"You keep telling yourself that," Rudy tossed at him as he kept studying Chip.

"Trust me, Miller," Chip snarled, "I wouldn't be within twenty kilometres of you if I knew you were going to be here."

"I'm wounded, Chip," said Rudy, putting his hand over his heart. "Cut to the quick."

"You're going to be wounded if you don't move away from the door," said Chip, almost growling.

"What?" Rudy looked behind him, exaggeratedly. "Oh, the door! Goodness, how rude of me." He stepped to the side with a flourish, and Chip dove for the doorknob. He misjudged the distance, however, and banged his forehead against the flimsy wood. Cursing, he glared at Rudy as if he'd been tripped, and tried the knob again, this time successfully barrelling out of the room. A few moments later, they heard the front door slam.

"Mike, you should know you really can aim higher than that, romantically speaking," said Rudy, looking mildly disapproving as he leaned against the open door frame.

"What?" Mike squawked. "No, he was hitting on me, but I wasn't hitting back! He's a clone!"

Rudy paused. "Seriously? He was hitting on you?"

Mike wrinkled his nose. "What, like it's so hard to believe?"

Rudy looked at him strangely for a second, then opened his mouth to speak.

Just then, a pair of slightly tipsy ballerinas wandered past, and when they saw Rudy, they squealed in delight. "Rudy!" the blonde one said. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"You promised to tell us what you thought of Charlotte's Grand Jeté! We're out in the living room, c'mon," said the brunette, gripping Rudy's arm right above the elbow and dragging him out of the room.

"Hey, wait, now," said Mike. "Where are you doing these jumps again?" He trailed along behind them, a bit worried for the safety of his TV and guitar.

The next morning, Mike woke up with his hand resting on the guitar he had rescued from the ravages of the more enthusiastic ballerinas.

He was blearily watching television and trying to recover, when an ad came on that made him perk up a bit. A pair of well-dressed young men with matching wide smiles were talking enthusiastically about the gay singles' day cruise on Lake Ontario where they'd met. They listed a website at the end of the ad, and Mike decided to check it out.

Rudy had just arrived with some takeout when Mike was starting to fill out the form to reserve a place on a cruise for the following weekend. He leaned over Mike's shoulder. "Atlantis Cruises?"

"It's a singles' cruise," said Mike absently. "I'm going next weekend – Friday, I think."

"Are you?" Rudy sounded a bit sceptical, and Mike tried not to get defensive. He shrugged.

"I just hope Chip doesn't sign up for it, too."

Rudy's face quivered for a moment before he brought it back under control, and Mike grinned – that had almost been a laugh. He knew the signs.

"Well, I hope you have fun. Take an extra bailing bucket."

"And an extra gas can?" Mike asked, face straight.

"Very forward-thinking of you," commended Rudy. "That's what I like about you, Mike, you always go the extra mile."

Mike laughed, then did his best to change the subject. "So, what did you bring?" he said, investigating the bags of food, and Rudy dropped the topic, to Mike's relief.

The next weekend, Mike looked around at the other cruise-goers, and wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly fling himself into the lake. He'd had no idea that so much flesh would be on display – he'd expected a fairly upscale crowd, but the dial seemed to be stuck on 'midnight at a disco' with no hope of escape. A few other men were at the edges of the crowd, looking similarly shell-shocked, and he edged over to one of them.

"Hey," he said. "This doesn't look like the commercial. I think my television lied to me."

The other guy laughed, shrilly. "I had no idea! I thought it would just be dinner and drinks and mingling. I didn't expect a damn disco ball!"

"Nobody ever does," said Mike, shaking his head in mock sadness. The other guy looked at him blankly, and Mike sighed. "I'm Mike," he said, sticking out his hand.

"Dave," the other guy said. "What brings you out here?"

Mike hesitated. "You want the honest answer?"

"Sure," said Dave.

"I'm totally hung up on my best friend," Mike confessed. It felt good to confide in a total stranger about Rudy, strangely. "He's not interested at all, but I've been sort of crazy about him since we were both kids."

Dave laughed, a little uncomfortably. "That was the honest answer – what was the fake answer?"

Mike shrugged. "Beats me. What about you?"

But he didn't actually get to hear Dave's own tale of dating woe, because just then, the ship's engine made a low grinding noise, clear and loud even over the thumping music, and the ship started to list precariously to starboard. The music came to a halt, unfortunately enough, because then the shouts of one of the crew members was audible to the entire party.

"Fuck! Are we actually sinking?"

If Mike had thought that a few dozen gay men dancing to ABBA was a touch alarming, the same half-naked gay men swarming to the sides of the boat to plead to be allowed onto the life rafts was terrifying.

Mike was upset – of course – but he also didn't want to risk getting trampled in that herd, and he headed for the cupboards marked LIFE VESTS/GILETS DE SAUVETAGE.

The crew organised the crowd eventually, of course, and Mike was glad of his life vest, as he was perched right at the edge of one of the boats, perilously near the not-at-all balmy waters of Lake Ontario.

He drove himself home, uncomfortably aware of his cold, damp clothing, and turning his car's heat up full blast in an attempt to stave off his increasing shivers.

When he got home, he kicked off his shoes and socks, and headed straight for the couch with his favourite blanket – only to find it already occupied.

Rudy lay, curled up and half-asleep, his hair tousled and wild, on Mike's saggy old sofa. He sat up when he registered Mike's presence, and the blanket fell from his shoulder, revealing bare skin, gleaming gold in the light from the nearby lamp. Mike had thought he'd seen enough bare skin tonight, but he'd make an exception for Rudy.

"What are you doing here?" asked Mike, nearly shocked out of his cold haze.

Rudy didn't answer. He looked at Mike's clothes and frowned. "Why are you all wet?"

"The boat sank," Mike said, frowning.

Rudy choked off a tiny giggle, barely noticeable, and Mike crossed his arms irritably. "Why. Are. You. Here," he demanded.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home safely, and didn't wander in with strange men," said Rudy.

"Naked?" asked Mike.

Rudy looked vaguely perplexed. "The strange men?"

"You!" said Mike, gesturing. "You decided to sit here and wait for me, naked?"

"I'm wearing boxers," said Rudy. He crossed his arms. "What does it matter?"

He sounded surprisingly bitter, but Mike was too annoyed to care. Matter? He was wet and cold, and he'd just had a really horrible night, and now on top of everything else, he had to deal with naked, untouchable Rudy in his apartment. He just couldn't take it anymore. He reached out and hauled Rudy to his feet.

"Why are you being such a twit?" said Mike crossly, poking Rudy in the shoulder, shoving him back with each word. "What is your problem?"

"Maybe I just don't want you throwing yourself into Lake Ontario for a string of sub-standard dates."

"But you called me repugnant! Why do you care?"

"You think I don't care?" Rudy asked, eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I think you don't care!" shouted Mike, waving his arms for emphasis. Then he gave a final shove, pushing Rudy against the wall. The fact that Rudy was just letting Mike push him, and not even fighting back, made Mike's anger slide into desire. He grabbed Rudy's wrists and pinned them back against the wall, and Rudy gasped, drawing Mike's attention to his mouth. He darted a quick look up, and Rudy was staring at his own mouth. He leaned in and took a kiss, diving into the warmth of Rudy's slightly sleepy mouth. Rudy kissed back like he'd been starving.

Rudy's enthusiastic participation gave him a heady sense of power, even though he knew in the back of his head that Rudy could probably get free from his grip without even exerting much effort. He wasn't sure what he was going to do until he did it, pulling away from the kiss to lean down a bit and bite at Rudy's neck, hard enough to leave a mark, then licking slightly to soothe away the sting.

"Are you just going to let me?" he asked, still right next to Rudy's neck, watching his breath making goosebumps rise all along Rudy's skin. "You don't have to, but I'll go crazy if you don't let me do this."

"Do what?" Rudy's voice wasn't as steady as he'd probably hoped it'd been, and his eyes blazed.

Mike smiled. "Something I've been wanting to do for ages." He let go of Rudy's wrists, and was pleased when his hands didn't move. He slid down, hooking his fingers in the waistband of the thin boxers and taking them down with him. Rudy obediently lifted a foot, but he got a bit tangled up, nearly tripping, and Mike abandoned that battle in favour of a more interesting one.

He focussed first on that patch of skin he'd been fantasising about for weeks now, the hollow inside Rudy's hip. The shadows that had flickered intriguingly before were gone now, in the harsh light of the nearby lamp, but that only meant that Mike could clearly see Rudy's smooth skin. He licked lightly along Rudy's hip, and heard him make a sound that was nearly a sob. He ran his hands along Rudy's stomach, feeling the muscles contracting under his hands, and slid his hands around to dig his nails into Rudy's perfect, perfect ass.

He glanced up, and Rudy was watching him intently, the poker face still in place but on the verge of cracking. Mike noticed that Rudy had brought his hands down from against the wall, and they were clenched lightly at his sides, as if he was restraining himself from interfering with what Mike was planning. Mike bit down sharply, making Rudy gasp, and leaving a red mark when he moved back slightly.

He traced his way across Rudy's lower body with fingertips and mouth, breathing warmly against his skin as he travelled slowly toward Rudy's cock. He licked his fingers, slowly, one by one, his mouth still right next to Rudy's cock, and wrapped his wet hand around the base of Rudy's cock, closing his hand as slowly as he could stand to. It had the very satisfying result of making Rudy's breath hitch, and he looked up to watch Rudy watching him, his eyes wide. He reached out to lick up the underside of Rudy's cock, not breaking eye contact, and he could see the colour rising in Rudy's face.

"Are you going to regret this in the morning?" Mike asked suddenly, stopping completely as the horrifying thought occurred to him.

"Please, can we talk about it later," gasped Rudy, who was satisfyingly incoherent and pink in the face, all hint of the poker face finally abandoned. "Please!"

Mike considered the possibility that their friendship might well end over one ill-considered blowjob, but he couldn't quite resist the lure of watching Rudy's kiss-roughened lips gasp out his pleas. He leaned forward and finally closed his mouth over Rudy's cock.

Rudy reached down and smoothed his hair back, gripping it lightly as Mike closed his eyes and savoured the taste and feel of Rudy's hard cock. He fluttered his tongue against the underside of Rudy's cock as he swallowed, and Rudy's hand pulled at his hair. The pressure made him moan a little, choked-off, and Rudy groaned, thumping his head back against the wall. His hips thrust up to meet Mike's mouth more strongly, and Mike tightened the hand he had at the base of Rudy's cock.

Mike was enjoying the feedback loop that he'd established – he'd do something to please Rudy, Rudy would moan or gasp, which pleased Mike into soft moans around Rudy's cock, which Rudy seemed to enjoy greatly – when, too soon, Rudy touched his cheek softly. "Close," he gasped.

Mike hummed and took his hand away from the base of Rudy's cock, then made eye contact for a very short moment – then leaned forward, swallowing hard and tilting his head to go as deep as he could. This seemed to be more than Rudy could take, and Mike could feel Rudy's cock twitch, strongly, as the first pulse of his orgasm hit. Mike moaned, deep in his throat, and Rudy's legs trembled so much that Mike, half-alarmed, moved his hands up slightly to help brace him against the wall. Mike had to move back after a moment, though, and he eased back slightly, which seemed to help Rudy regain some control. He only seemed capable of leaning back against the wall and breathing hard, which Mike found quite satisfying.

After a moment, Rudy gave up the struggle to remain standing and slid down the wall, bonelessly, next to Mike. He tugged at Mike's shirt, helping him shed the damp clothing but not letting him out of arms' reach – not that Mike tried to go anywhere. He didn't have coordination for very much, really, with Rudy so close.

Rudy pushed him down, pressing against his shoulders until Mike was lying flat on his back. Rudy followed him until their foreheads were touching. He stole another kiss, then nearly smiled. "It's definitely my turn now."

Mike tilted his head and smiled back. "Am I supposed to argue with that?"

Rudy actually laughed.

 

The next morning, Mike was not as sanguine. As in previous mornings when Rudy had stayed over – though always before on the couch, of course – he woke alone in his bed to the smell of delicious things cooking. He shuffled off to the kitchen, not bothering with the shirt this time – either Rudy was freaking out about the sex, in which case a shirt wouldn't help, or he was totally okay with it, in which case a shirt also wouldn't help. He worried about which of the two he'd find the whole way, but when he emerged into the kitchen, it was to hear Rudy whistling tunelessly as he stood at the stove.

"Good morning," Mike croaked.

Rudy swirled around. "Good morning," he said, looking quite happy for Rudy. "Glad to see you finally crawled out of bed."

"I was tired," Mike justified himself guiltily, then realised the implication and flushed.

Rudy looked satisfied and didn't say anything.

"What's for breakfast?" asked Mike, craning his neck to see the pan.

"Pancakes," said Rudy, displaying the pan.

Mike grinned. "Excellent – I love excuses for maple syrup."

Again, Rudy didn't reply, but he glanced down at Mike's chest and flushed slightly.

Breakfast was companionable and completely normal, and Mike was happy enough not to need to discuss anything yet. All too soon, however, they finished eating, and Rudy looked intent on having some kind of talk.

"Repugnant?" he asked, and it took Mike a second to realise what he was asking.

"At the club!" he exclaimed. "When Tom was asking if you and I had ever hooked up!"

"No," said Rudy, narrowing his eyes. "When he asked if I wanted the two of us to be 'friends with benefits'."

"Same thing," said Mike, crossing his arms.

"Because," Rudy explained, as if Mike hadn't spoken, "I want to be more than just that to you."

"Oh," Mike said. "Oh! Really?"

Rudy raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't get that impression last night?"

Mike blushed. "Oh," he said again.

Rudy stirred his coffee. "It will be much easier on me," he mused, "if you'd just stop accepting other dates. Or at least, it'll save me a lot of time and effort plotting, when I could be doing," he looked archly at Mike, "better things."

It took Mike a moment to catch on, but -- "Have you actually been sabotaging my dates?" he asked, shocked.

Rudy shrugged. "Not all of them. But some, yes."

"The boat?" Mike asked.

Rudy shook his head. "Not me."

"Really?" Mike was taken aback.

"Sinking a boat with a hundred people on board?" Rudy shook his head. "Not my style." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "A small yacht, perhaps."

Mike shrugged. "Uh, my keys down the storm drain, a couple of months ago?"

"That might have been deliberate, yes."

"Chip?"

"Do you really think I could have induced him to come within 200 metres of us?" Rudy asked.

Mike looked at him narrowly. "Yes or no?"

"Sadly, no." Rudy heaved a sigh. "Though if I had thought of it, I would've."

Mike tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What else was there?"

"The arrest was me," Rudy confessed. "I had a background check run on him."

"What?" Mike exclaimed. "Really? That was almost a year ago!"

"He seemed shifty," said Rudy calmly. "It couldn't hurt."

"Anything else?"

"The washing machine. Also, you might not want to go back to Jean's for awhile."

"Jean's?" Mike couldn't quite place it.

"The restaurant with Rick as your waiter," Rudy prompted.

"Oh!" Mike finally remembered. "I didn't ask for his number. He just sort of gave it to me."

"Of course."

"Vicky could tell you!"

"She said that you were really flirty with the waiter, actually," said Rudy, his eyes narrowed. "She called him your love puppet."

"What? When did she say anything?"

"We've been running together some mornings, and she mentioned it. Hoping to make me jealous, I think." Rudy's eyes glinted.

"Did it?" asked Mike, curious.

"Yes." Rudy's voice was flat, but the admission delighted Mike. He pulled Rudy down a bit, so he could move in for a kiss. Rudy did not seem averse.

"Anything else?" asked Mike, hovering a few inches away from Rudy's lips.

"No, the rest you managed on your own." Rudy leaned down to close the space, and Mike didn't think of asking any more questions for a long, long time.


End file.
